A Slight Issue
by lizzie.bananalovesRDJ
Summary: Sherlock, completely out of context, states that John and himself are sleeping together and Irene Adler hears the statement. Within three hours, news of the relationship is across every news headline in England.
1. Chapter 1

_A Slight Issue _

_Summary: Sherlock, completely out of context, states that John and himself are sleeping together and Irene Adler hears the statement. Within three hours, news of the relationship is across every news headline. __A/N: Warning contains swearing, will contain M rated material if I continue. Oh and spoilers for Sherlock series 2 episode one- 'A scandal in Belgravia'_

'Please don't feel obliged to tell me that was amazing, John's expressed that in every possible variant available in English.'

'I would have you, right here, on this desk, until you beg for mercy, twice.' Irene states huskily.

_She wants me? Whatever could she be implying by that? Though added together with the constant 'let's have dinner' situation… oh. Oh! Sex, of course. How easy it can be to forget ordinary people's fascination with the act. But Irene… I wouldn't have her pegged as ordinary. _

_Irene Adler, the dominatrix, wanting sex. Not a huge leap. Symbol of power. Which of course means she has an ulterior motive._

_Response needed._

'Well…' I start, chancing a look in John's direction. Perfect, he adorns a look that could easily be misinterpreted as jealous. 'Yeah, he said that too.'

There. If that doesn't shut her up I don't know what will. I must admit I'm surprised at Moriarty, to think I would fall for a woman.

The moment the words leave my lips; both John and Irene turn to stare at me, Irene with her eyebrows raised and a look of shock and disbelief etched on her face, and John shocked and confused. But not appalled I am sure to note.

'I see.' From Irene leaves her mouth at the same moment that 'What?' Leaves John's.

'Ignore him, the change in sexuality's been a lot for him to handle, you haven't quite come to terms with our little agreement yet have you John?'

'An agreement? How fascinating. Do share.' She responds, eyebrows remaining raised.

'Based on a movie John forced me to watch. I believe Friends with benefits is the widely acknowledged term.'

'You… you're sleeping with John?' She asks, seemingly confused. 'I assumed Jim Moriarty was correct with his assumptions about you Sherlock. It appears he was incorrect.'

'Sex is I presume what you were implying by 'I would have you here on this desk.' Therefore yes, I think the assumption on your part regarding John and I is correct, abet obvious.

'You were of course, attempting to seduce me.' I observe.

'You noticed. He wasn't sure if you would.' Irene says amusement clear on her face. _I don't believe that this outcome is one that she anticipated._

'Oh naturally. Am I to presume you have a document that you hoped I would inadvertently decipher?'

'Oh aren't you clever. He was right about you. There is a document, but I imagine that it is no longer any of your concern. I'll be leaving now. Good bye Sherlock, Doctor. Do contact me if the two of you ever wish to have dinner alongside me.'

The second we hear the tell-tale sound of a woman's healed shoe on the steps leaving 221b, John abruptly vacates his chair and stands directly opposite me.

'What the bloody hell was that Sherlock?' He fumes.

'Oh come along John, don't be dense. Miss Adler's attempts at seduction were transparent at best; surely even you could not have failed to notice her ulterior motive?'

'She wanted something from you?' John asks, frown apparent on his face, a mixture of confusion and anger I suspect.

'Of course she did, why would she be interested in me, she told you herself, Irene Adler is a lesbian. Moriarty is apparently very persuasive.'

'I presume you also had a valid reason for not so inadvertently telling her that we're shagging?' He growls.

_Maybe, just possibly, I should have said something else to force Irene to vacate the premises. I forget how much the 'John and Sherlock are gay' thesis everyone we know forms bothers him._

'She needed to leave John; she needed to know she didn't have a hope in hell at seducing me. I do apologise if I upset you.'

'You don't get it do you? You have to stop going around implying, or in this case **telling **everyone that we're gay.'

'John I…' I start before John interrupts me with:

'You know what, leave it Sherlock. I don't care. I'm going out. Bye.'

Hours after John has left Baker Street _gone to meet, or should I say attempt to pick up and sleep with, a unsuspecting woman no dought_ I slump in one of the arm chairs, idly considering the best way to retrieve the gun Mrs Hudson removed from the flat, when I began shooting the wall in the form of another face.

**Bored!**

**Bored!**

**Bored! **

'John, pass me my phone.' I call out. A couple of hours later I have to acknowledge that John is indeed not in the flat, nor is he showing any signs of returning.

Deciding that updating my website is the least tedious thing to do until John's return, I rematch onto the coffee table next to me, and retrieve the laptop _weather it happens to be John's or mine is irrelevant _ and power it up.

Automatically I load up Google chrome, and the latest news. Always good to keep on top of things, never know what ridiculously simple case Lestrade will require my assistance with next.

Blah blah blah _recession_ blah blah blah _facebook crisis_ blah blah blah _football results_

Nothing what so ever of interest.

Expect…

Not good. Not good at all.

'**Internet sleuth Sherlock and assistant John in confirmed gay relationship' **the daily mail

_Sherlock Holmes, private detective and his partner Doctor John Watson reveal to the world that they are indeed a gay couple… Tape recording presented… friends confirm they had their suspicions about the essence of the pair's friendship…_

'**Homosexual detective and partner go public' **Daily telegraph

_Holmes and Watson… homosexual… outrage of past clients… couldn't have been more obvious… source confirms… interviews with the pair's associates detectives Anderson and Donavon reveal…_

'**Holmes and Watson the internet sensations come out to world' **the sun

_The allegedly sociopathic detective is in fact in a relationship… with non-other than his 'partner in crime' John Watson… fans of the crime fighting duo have mixed opinions… Two fans found and interviewed… disgusting… brilliant… private lives… no need to publicly flaunt their homosexuality…_

Each article of course complete with a photograph clearly showing both of us. **That **hat photograph and two papers featuring two pictures put together, John in his army uniform and myself in that ridiculous white sheet.

_There's only one place they could have got that information, so credible that they were able to publish in less than three hours._

_Irene Adler. That woman! _

_John is going to kill me. Thank god Mrs Hudson has the gun out of harm's way._

**Meanwhile (John's POV)**

I'm not drunk… I'm merry. Merry enough to at least attempt to forget all my problems. Namely a fucking gorgeous tall dark haired man with prominent cheek bones.

Anyway, tonight that doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. Tonight I'm going to have a normal night in a bar, drink myself into oblivion, talk to normal people, and women should the chance come along.

I walk over to the bar, and signal to the bar tender to bring me another beer.

While I wait for my drink, I notice a pretty redhead leaning against the bar effectively next to me, adorning a tight knee length skirt and practically see-through, allowing me to see her pink bra and white shirt and high black heels... She must've noticed my leering, for a moment or two later, she introduces herself.

'Hi, my name's Jennifer, Jennifer Drake.'

'I'm John Watson.' I respond 'Can I get you a drink Jennifer?'

'Sure. Red wine please.'

When we finally receive our drinks, the woman and I make our way to a secluded table, and begin to chatter and flirt about nothing in particular.

We seem to be getting on pretty well, and I'm considering weather kissing Jennifer would be appropriate when a woman approaches our table.

'Jenny! Hello! Who's your friend?' She asks.

'Hi Anna, let me introduce you to John.' She says, getting up to embrace her friend.

'Nice to meet you Anna.' I say politely.

'And you John. I'm sure I know you from somewhere.' She adds, furrowing her brown in frustration. 'Hang on; what's your last name?'

'Watson. John Watson.'

'Oh my god I knew it. You bastard!' She cries out, slapping me round my face, leaving what I'm sure is a red mark.

'Anna!' Calls out Jennifer in shock 'What's wrong.'

'He's gay Jenny.' She states. 'Shagging his flatmate Sherlock Holmes.'

'What?' I exclaim in shock. 'I can assure you, I am not gay, nor am I sleeping with Sherlock Holmes.'

'You liar.' She snarls, tugging an iPhone out of her bag and after tapping the screen a couple of times, holds it out for Jennifer and I to see.

'**Internet sleuth Sherlock and assistant John in confirmed gay relationship' **Announces the title, complete with a picture of Sherlock and I together.

What the hell?

'Um John I… didn't realise you're gay…'

'Or shagging another man.' Anna butts in with.

'Or seeing someone else.' She agrees. 'Thanks for the drink, I think I should be leaving now. Good bye.'

'Wait Jennifer!' I cry after her. 'I'm not gay! I didn't know anything about the newspaper article.'

'I'm sorry John' She replies, before she disappears from my view.

Fuming with anger and confusion I reach into my own pocket and tug out my phone and begin to compose a message.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**SHERLOCK WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? – JW**

_Feedback would be appreciated; I will continue if people want me to. Please bear in mind that this is in-beta'd and was written at a ridiculously late time, so there probably are errors. Hope you enjoyed._


	2. Chapter 2

_A slight Issue_

_Chapter 2_

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?- JW**

To: John Watson

John, please don't be alarmed. Miss Adler recorded our conversation. It seems that she believes that the literate world thinking you and I are sleeping together will prove benifactory to her. - SH

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Yeah, I think I worked that out! I'm coming home; get Chinese… and alcohol- we need to talk. – JW**

To: John Watson

Alcohol slows the brain and damages the body John. –SH

**To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Right now? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. -JW**

I leave the White Horse pub almost immediately after Jennifer and Anna, once I have composed myself and collected at least some of my thoughts. I notice four men and women clutching smart phones as I make my exit, and don't fail to notice the glances and raised eyebrows they direct at me.

My name is mentioned in three of the four people's conversations; all with fairly controversial views on 'the subject'.

Even the taxi driver appears to recognise me, and attempts to make small talk concerning Sherlock and I as he drives.

'Hey, aren't you the guy who's sleeping with the internet detective?' He asks, obviously searching for any information to sell. Well, I suppose driving taxis can't pay to well.

'I'd rather not talk about it.'

'Don't worry, I'm not judging, I think it's great. Good luck to the both of ya I say.'

The moment the cab stops outside 221, I leap out of it and after tossing an approximately correct amount of money towards the driver; unlock the main door to the building, and dash up the stairs.

I find Sherlock lounged, dressed in his coat on the sofa when I enter the flat, body curled towards the wall; a carrier bag showing the local Chinese shop's logo tossed on to the floor beside him.

'John.' He acknowledges, sitting up in order to face me, sleeve moving as he does so, revealing three nicotine patches. Must be thinking. That's a good sign. **Right? **

'Care to tell me what's going on Sherlock?' I growl.

'The papers?' He asks un-necessarily, as if we were discussing the weather.

'No shit Sherlock.'

'Well, it's fairly obvious. Adler needed insurance should her attempts of seduction fail.' Sherlock calmly comments.

'Sherlock, how can you be so calm? Our so called gay relationship's been splashed across every headline!'

'It happens.'

'It happens? Sherlock this is serious!' I scream.

'But why? It doesn't change anything. Everyone we know is convinced we've been sleeping together since our the case where you shot the cabbie. Lestrade and Mrs Hudson have bets going regarding us!'

'Yes, but now we're going to have serious issues denying it. The newspapers have proof!' I moan, exasperated.

'Why do you care John? People talk, in fact they do little else but talk. Everyone'll have forgotten by a week on Tuesday.'

'How the hell am I meant to get a girlfriend when the whole world's convinced I'm shagging you?' I scream, immediately regretting my outburst. Sherlock will of course delve into that statement and will no dought find hidden meanings that surprise surprise, even I wasn't aware of.

'Is that what's bothering you? I really don't see how this will change your situation, you weren't been able to keep a girlfriend for more than a week even before the press publicised our so called relationship.'

'That's not the point; I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, think of the outcomes, what if…' I start, before Sherlock interrupts me in a very un-Sherlock like fashion.

Quickly, no dought so I wouldn't have time to protest, and whilst muttering 'For fuck's sake' under his breath, Sherlock stands up, strides towards me, and presses his lips to my own.

**Sherlock Holmes is kissing me.**

**I am being kissed by Sherlock Holmes.**

He seems nervous, no dought afraid of rejection and the consequences his action could behold. And if Mycroft can be believed, Sherlock Holmes is a virgin. I wonder if he's ever kissed anyone before...

As Sherlock's mouth covers my own, I can't help but notice how soft his lips are, and how warm his breath is on my mouth.

After 10 seconds or so; I suppose he presumes I am not going to respond; he begins to pull away from me. I take impulsively take a hold of his dark curls and pull his face back towards mine.

Our lips crash together; I open my mouth invitingly, to which Sherlock early responds.

I pass one last chase kiss to Sherlock's lips and pull away, looking up into Sherlock's eyes in an attempt to gage the situation.

'What was that Sherlock?' I ask, unable to deduce what is running through the mind of the man opposite me.

'I believe it is wildly referred to as a kiss John.' Sherlock says, apparently unable to look me in the eyes.

'Yes, but why did you kiss **me**?' I press.

'It seemed like the most logical way to shut you up.' He responds heartlessly.

'That was the only reason?' I ask

'Of course John. Logic above all else.' He says; now ignoring me and turning his attention to the phone vibrating in his pocket.

'Sherlock Holmes.'

'_Sherlock, its Lestrade. Listen, we need your help, there's been a murder. Young woman; apparent lover's dispute. Can you come?'_

'Text me the address.'

'There's been a murder at… 34 Richmond Avenue.' He says after consulting his phone. 'Care to join me?'

_The man just kissed me to 'shut me up' and now he wants to forget about it and solve crimes?_

'Erm… No, I'll stay here. I need to… think.' I stutter.

'Could be dangerous.' He says, attempting to persuade me into joining him.

'No thanks. Next time.'

**(Sherlock's POV)**

_In theory, kissing John was not the best idea. Though if I'm talking about things that were a mistake, telling John that the kiss's only purpose was to shut him up comes top._

_Why? Why would I say that? Split-second response. As if John were an experiment, like that woman I proposed to last month for information for the 'master blackmailer' case. Bit not good according to John._

_I suppose that's why he wouldn't assist me on this case. He feels used. Until today neither he nor I knew the extent of John's sexuality. For judging by the increased pulse rate, dilated pupils and erection against my thigh; I arouse John._

_A spectacular thought._

_The next step must of course be convincing John that what I feel for him is real. And not because of the newspaper articles or an experiment. Though experimentation on John may prove rather enjoyable._

_Now, how does one go about seducing one's flatmate?_

Predictably, my reception isn't the warmest at Scotland Yard. Some officers are very… supportive. Offering their congratulations.

They are Unforchanatly in a small minority. My job would be so much easier if my personal life could remain my own.

Donavon and Anderson appear to have formed some kind of fan club. And they refer to be as the resident 6 year old.

'Hey freak.' Comments Donavon 'See you're shagging your flatmate'

'Do you have to pay him to sleep with you?' Taunts Anderson 'Make him pretend to be dead? We all know you get off on the crimes you solve.'

'Anderson, Donavon. A pleasure as always. I see you scrubbed Anderson's floors again. The second time this week isn't it? They must be spotless. And Anderson. My condolences on your divorce. It must be a real shock to find out your wife's a lesbian.' I resort back. There, that should shut them up for a while.

'Sherlock, my office.' Lestrade announces, emerging from behind an unuslay large pot plant; clutching an umbrella. It seems my brother's fetish is rubbing of on him. How literally I cannot be sure.

'So you and John eh? Congratulations Sherlock, you'll make a great couple.' He says when seated behind his desk. 'Where is he today?'

'John is otherwise occupied. I see you are in a sexual relationship with my brother Mycroft Lestrade. I hear I am obliged to give you a nonsense speech saying not to hurt him. That of course is not going to happen, just don't trust two thirds of the things he tells you.'

'What… how could you possibly…' He stutters.

'Irrelevant. I believe you have a case that you are incapable of solving alone?'

'Er yes, Katie Myles, 18, found poisoned in a flat she shares with her boyfriend.'

'I presume since you called me, the boyfriend has an alibi?'

'Rock solid, he was visiting his sister in hospital, the visitors log, 20 witnesses and CCTV confirms it.'

'Crime scene photos?' I say, extending my hand out to which Lestrade places the photo's in.

'Poison is a woman's method of murder. Our victim is either a lesbian or a bisexual. Judging by the fact that she has a boyfriend; I'm going with bi. The victim was seeing a man and a woman at the same time. She told the woman yesterday that she had chosen the man and she couldn't continue to see her. The woman got jealous, and decided that if she couldn't have her, no one could.'

'Sherlock, that was… amazing. How could you possibly know about the girlfriend?'

_Praise sounds better coming from John's mouth._

'From the pictures I see a black lipstick a meter or so from the body. Your victim couldn't possibly wear such a colour. Not with vibrant blonde hair and a conservative dress scence. Therefore, the lipstick belonged to someone else. That together with the poison; a female lover.' I state. Honestly, why can't people just think? They see but they do not observe.

'Do you have any idea who the girlfriend could be?' Lestrade asks.

'Your victim must have met the girl at school since she spends her home life with her boyfriend. She will spend most of her school life with people her own age, and for a bond strong enough to kill for; she will have known her killer for quite some time. I recommend you ask around her school; find her best friend, she's the murderer.'

'Thank you Sherlock, as always, brilliant. Why though, is your relationship with John splashed across every newspaper?' He inquires.

'Irene Adler.' I say through gritted teeth.

'The dominatrix?'

'Yes. Her insurance backfired. This was her back up plan.'

**Meanwhile at Baker Street (John's POV)**

After two minutes of persistent ringing, I finally locate my mobile phone, and press the 'accept call' button, surprised at the identity of the caller.

'Sarah?... Job opportunity… Australia… what, no I can't leave London… asked for me specifically… Yes, I'll consider it. Bye.'

_An opportunity to leave Baker Street, leave London. Start afresh. Forget all about Sherlock Holmes and everything associated with him._

_But I can't leave London. Can't leave Harry, my parents, Sherlock._

_Because I'd miss him. Miss everything about him. _

_But maybe this is a good time to leave. If I left, everything that's been written in the papers would be forgotten. I could lead a normal existence._

_But Sherlock… I never did figure him out. Never told him the extent of my feelings, only kissed him once (and that may or may not have meant something) never shagged him… where did that come from?_

_Could I really leave everything and everyone I hold dear behind?_

Confused and in serious need of fresh air to clear my head, I stumble down the steps and out of 221b in a haze, stopping to brace myself outside, against the wall; collecting my thoughts, breathing deeply.

A black car stops outside 221b. A man in a pristine suit with dark hair accompanied by another man, scruffier in comparison climb out and advance towards me.

Oh brilliant.

'Lovely day to be kidnapped.'

_A/N Hello; me again. Hope you enjoyed this instalment. I'm thinking this story's going to have a total of 3, maybe 4 chapters? Either way, the next one will contain Sherlock/John smut, I promise . If you want to see more; feedback's appreciated._


	3. Chapter 3

_A slight Issue._

_Chapter 3_

'Doctor Watson, hello. I trust you are well?' Comments the first, neatly dressed man.

'I trust you're hear with the intention of kidnapping me?' I ask, mildly amused with the whole situation.

'John, I'm really sorry about this.' Mummers the second man. 'It was completely his idea, and well, he can be very persuasive.'

'I do hope we are not inconveniencing you in any way Doctor Watson.'

'Not at all.' I respond sarcastically. 'Am I to presume you're here to take me to an abandoned warehouse in order to talk about Sherlock?'

'Naturally. If you would please get into the car Doctor.'

_Thankfully (unlike the previous occasions) I am neither blinded nor forced to endure hours of endless clicks on Mycroft's assistant's phone. The alternative however, is not a great deal better._

_The black car has a roomy interior, complete with blacked out windows, and a screen blocking the driver from view. The layout is somewhat unusual, with two sets of roomy leather seats opposite each other. Mycroft and his companion Lestrade sit on one side, with me on the other._

_As far as I can gather, the car moves away from Baker Street, yet only drives for a couple of hours max, before coming to a halt in what I presume knowing Mycroft, is a secluded spot._

_Unusually, I am not ushered out of the car into an abandoned destination, but am instead politely asked to stay seated._

'I trust you have seen the headlines Doctor Watson.' Comments Mycroft, as he reaches into a brief case and pulls out copies of the main British paper, splashed with pictures of Sherlock and I across the front pages.

'How could I not. Couldn't you have done something to stop this Mycroft?' I mummer angrily. _Honestly, you'd think the fact that your best friend (and apparent lover)'s brother 'is the British Government' would have some advantages._

'Unforchanatly Doctor, no matter what Sherlock may tell you, I have no influence over the media. I could do nothing to stop information spreading.'

_Apparently not. _

'I have come to offer you a choice Doctor Watson. I believe a…'

'Sarah Sawyer' Interjects Lestrade.

'Thank you. Sarah Sawyer has offered you a job elsewhere. I urge you to accept. Should you leave the county, any rumours concerning my brother and yourself will die down. I wager you will be married within a year.'

'You want me to leave Sherlock?' I question, horrified at the prospect. And of course mildly concerned about the extent of Mycroft's influences.

'That Doctor Watson is your first option. Your second is to leave… two hundred and twenty one B' He says, pronouncing the 'B' with obvious scorn. _Evidently Holmes' don't usually reside in flats_. 'Baker Street with immediate effect. You must distinguish all contact with my brother and any case or person linked to him. Should you choose this option; you shall of course be paid a generous amount, enough to ensure you live a comftable lifestyle away from Sherlock Holmes.'

'And my third option?' I summon. If the previous two options are anything to go by, this cannot end well.

'Gregory insisted I include this option, it seems that your little 'will they won't they' relationship has caused quite a stir up at Scotland Yard, so much so that a staggering 98% believe you belong with Sherlock. So I offer you an alternative. Continue to reside at Baker Street with Sherlock, but begin a relationship with him.'

_Did I hear that correctly? Mycroft is offering me a third option of what… shagging his brother?_

'…What?' I ask, voice strangled.

'Gregory perhaps you should explain. This is more your forte than mine.'

'Um… sure. Look John. Let's be blunt. The only person who doesn't know that Sherlock Holmes is in love with you is you. And the only person who can't see that you're desperately falling for Sherlock is well, Sherlock.'

'You… think I'm… in love with Sherlock?' I splutter.

'Doctor Watson, surely this cannot be news to you. I accept that perhaps there is a small chance you were not consciously aware of your feelings but I assure you. It couldn't have been more obvious.' Mycroft says, obviously annoyed at my ignorance.

I open my mouth, hundreds of come backs ready to use in my head, but no words come out, instead a pathetic coughing noise, to which Lestrade responds to by handing me a paper cup full of water.

_God I hope this isn't poisoned. _

I take a deep breath and swallow a mouthful of water, while listening to Mycroft's reasoning.

'You killed a man to save my brother when you had known him for less than a week.'

_They know about that! They fucking know I shot a man! I… Oh… Mycroft._

'You… Er… know about that?…' I moan softly.

'Im not an idiot John, who else could it have been? Not to worry, I had it covered up most effectively. Lestrade responds.

'Erm, thanks?'

'On with the evidence. You refused to take money which you could have desperately used, because of commitment to a man you barley knew. You broke up with numerous girlfriends because they interfered with your commitment to my brother.'

'You practically seethe with rage if anyone, especially Anderson or Donavon, dare insult him.' Lestrade adds.

'You were the one person Moriarty deemed most important to Sherlock. Important enough to strap to a bomb and threaten to kill should he not comply. Not me, his own brother. Nor his mother, or Lestrade, the man who fuels his need for intriguing cases. You John.'

'You were so jealous of Irene Alder.' Laughs Lestrade. 'I've seen the surveillance videos. Your comment about your middle name. And your reaction to Sherlock seeing the woman naked. Priceless!'

'That added to the extremely suggestive factor that you kissed. So what do you say Doctor Watson. Which option will you choose. Leave for a different country, leave Baker Street and diminish all contact? Or stay, and begin the relationship of the century?'

'Can I em… speak to Sherlock?' I ask, slightly overwhelmed by the whole situation.

'Of course. SHERLOCK!' Mycroft yells, loud enough to be heard through the screen separating the driver and passengers.

A second or two later, the screen begins to descend, to reveal Sherlock at the wheel of the car.

_Which is a bit worrying, considering he can't drive._

'How could you possibly know I was here?' He grumbles.

'In short, you never passed your driver's test brother of mine. It shows.'

'I live in London; the ability to drive is not a necessity.' He resorts.

'Evidently you have been proved wrong dear Sherlock. In this situation, the ability to drive would not only have been convent to get you from A to B, but would have also provided your passengers, namely myself, with the security that my driver is fully qualified.'

I sense that this could be a long debate, which if experience is anything to go by, will not be resolved today. Before Sherlock has a chance to retaliate, I intervene with:

'Could I possibly speak to Sherlock alone?'

'Of course.' Mycroft responds, as he and Lestrade climb out of the vehicle, and remove listening devices at my ordered request.

'Did you Er... Hear everything?' I inquire.

'Yes.'

'And...'

'I don't want you to leave.'

'What do you want Sherlock?' I ask, suddenly aware of the extent of my arousal since Sherlock's appearance. I do a mental check and deduce my pupils are dilated, pulse increased, not to mention the growing problem between my legs.

'I would very much like to go home to Baker Street along with my faithful blogger. I would then, should things go as expected, like to take him up to my room, or his room, actually the sofa would do, and I would like to have sexual intercourse with this man, which I should hope will result in a rather pleasurable experience which I am informed is referred to as an orgasm. And judging by the man in question, I can only presume he wishes for more or less the same course of action?'

Trust Sherlock to make something so amazingly arousing sound analytical.

'The man in question would like that very much.' I respond.

At that moment, Sherlock's smile grows and a glint becomes evident in his eyes.

It takes Sherlock less than 10 seconds to climb through the gap where the screen once was and collapse gracefully onto the leather seat next to me.

'May I kiss you John?' He asks, his eyes seemingly delving into my head.

'Is this an experiment?' I question.

_This cannot happen again if Sherlock is using this as an experiment to ensure I don't leave Baker Street._

'John listen to me.' Instructs Sherlock 'You heard the embarrassing conversation at the palace. Surprisingly, Mycroft was right. I am a virgin. Even I don't sleep with people for experimental purposes. I have never been attracted to anyone on the level that I've ever wanted sex. Until I met you John. You're different. You're brilliant. You stayed with me through out everything. You made me a better person. And you're very' He says as he places a kiss to my hand 'Very' Another kiss 'Attractive. And I would like nothing better than for you to teach me what love, and sex are.

I raise my right hand up to Sherlock's face and take his face in my right hand, softly caressing with my hand. My breath hitches in my throat as my heart rate begins to dramatically speed up. Sherlock's eyes widen slightly as he captures my eyes, _I can only presume he means to deduce everything he possibly can. Sherlock never did like to not have the upper hand, and with virtually no experience, he has little choice but to let me take the lead. _

Sherlock begins to lean in towards me, and after a seeming age, I too lean towards him, and our lips connect for the second time today.

The kiss begins fairly innocently, binging rather like two nervous young teenagers would, soft and slow, little pressure involved.

He picks up the technique as Sherlock does everything; unnaturally quickly. He soon grows impatient of the slow pace and moves his hands round to the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair and tugging my head towards his.

After that, I find myself unable to contain the need I find for the live and beautiful man in front of me, and am confronted with a need to deepen the kiss.

Seeing no objection on Sherlock's part, I press my lips harder against his, and encourage him to open his mouth slightly, to which I slip my tounge into, an action which he eagerly recipicates.

Sherlock's hands abruptly abandon my hair, and focus instead on my chest and stomach, drawing circles through the material of my jumper.

It quickly becomes apparent that both my jumper and Sherlock's coat are far too restrictive, and the kiss is broken in order to remove them.

The moment Sherlock is rid of his coat, and his purple shirt becomes visible, I groan, feeling the increasing problem between my legs increasing, begging for attention.

Instead I settle for undoing the buttons of the shirt, watching the way the material strains against his torso, and the increasingly large V of creamy white flesh that is revealed with every button that is undone.

Once the buttons are all undone, I tug the shirt from Sherlock's skin tight trousers, and watch in fascination as it billows from the perfect man's body. Without bothering to remove it completely, I begin to lavish attention to the new skin that the unbuttoning has revealed, skin that I have so often dreamed about, but haven't until this point seen.

I trace circles around Sherlock's torso, smirking in delight as he begins to arch his back to meet my hand. I take his right nipple in my mouth, swirling it with my tounge, feeling it grow hard in my mouth, and listening in fascination at the sounds the action causes Sherlock to emit.

'_God John!'_

'_Urgh'_

'_Why have we never done this before?'_

Of course, I couldn't stay in control forever. Once Sherlock gets a grasp of what is done in this situation; he begins to take over. He apparently decides that the playing-field can only be levelled if I am rid of my shirt.

Groaning, he pulls away from my grip, and savagely attacks my shirt, tugging the buttons free, and tearing the shirt open.

He appears to have the intent of copying my actions, but instead, he begins an assault on my neck, tracing delicate patterns with his tounge and sucking at my neck to the extent that I can be pretty sure a mark will be left.

_Sherlock likes to mark his lovers. Or rather lover. Who knew he was so possessive._

'Sherlock… You have to be sure this is what you want...' I pant as Sherlock continues doing unspeakable things to my neck.

'Do you honestly believe I would have let things go this far if I weren't sure, John?' He queries.

'Glad to hear it.' I whisper seductively. 'So you wouldn't mind if I were to take of your trousers?'

'I'd be disappointed if you didn't.'

I think it's fair to say that after that, things become a lot more hectic. The rush from us both to remove the other's trousers and boxers, Sherlock's cute curious sideways glance at my erection and analytical scanning of my naked body.

Sherlock taking my penis into his hand and lightly stroking it, causing a wave of pleasure to run through me and a bunch of incoherent words to emit from my lips.

Me taking Sherlock into my mouth, watching his eyes cloud with pleasure as I lightly suck his penis and hollow out my cheeks to the best of my ability. Sherlock's gasp as I hum, causing waves of pleasure.

Then the door opens at the worst possible opportunity. I sense that Sherlock's on the edge. One more movement with my mouth and Sherlock would have felt his first taste of pleasure.

The door is flung open, and we are greeted by Lestrade's face.

Apparently he doesn't register exactly **what **is going on when he first opens the door, as he begins to speak as though everything's normal.

'Hey Sherlock, John, sorry to interrupt your conversation but Mycroft asked me to tell you that… Oh my god!'

_Apparently he noticed exactly *cough* what we are doing._

'God I'm so sorry I…'

'Not a good time Lestrade.' Sherlock is somehow able to mutter, in quite an authoritative voice considering the situation.

'Er yeah, sorry… I'll be leaving.' Says Lestrade, unable to look at either Sherlock or I directly as he hurriedly slams the door shut and dashes away from the car.

_Not really surprising during the current situation._

'I'm assuming that was awkward for you?' Sherlock asks, smirk plastered on his face.

_**Seriously Sherlock!**_

_A/N: Hello all, I'm back. I hope this chapter was worth the wait, I'm sorry for the delay, real life caught up with me. I know this wasn't very smutty, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway._

_So, this is the last official chapter, but if enough people want it; I am prepared to write an epilogue, and who knows what that could contain ;) As always, feedback's appreciated._


	4. Chapter 4

_A slight Issue_

_Chapter 4: Epilogue._

_A year or so later-established JohnLock relationship. The Fall never happened. There's also a little bit of Mystrade in this chapter FYI. _

"Tell me again Sherlock; exactly what is so important what it couldn't wait 15 minutes?" I grumble, clumsily throwing on the clothes scatted towards the foot of the bed, clothes that were tossed there only an hour before, thanks to Sherlock walking into their bedroom clad only in a sheet resulting in my pouncing on him.

"A case John." Says Sherlock somewhat impatiently, black trousers un-zipped, white shirt un-buttoned, hair tousled. "I received a text from Lestrade, apparently there's a mob surrounding Scotland Yard, they've requested our assistance."

I turn to face Sherlock, immediately noting the gleam in his eyes, the gleam caused by an intriguing problem just waiting to be solved, the gleam finds irresistible.

Smiling, Sherlock zips his trousers and buttons a socially correct amount of buttons before walking swiftly over to me, kissing me promptly on the lips, running a hand through my for want of a better word: sex hair and tugs my coat down from the top of their wardrobe (god knows how it ended up there) and hands it to John.

"Come along John!" He commands, ushering him out of the room, stopping briefly to collect his coat and scarf which hang on the door-handle.

The taxi ride to the police station was un-comftable (for me at least) to say the least. Sherlock seemed incapable of keeping any space between the two of them, and was very insistent about running his hand up my inner thigh, causing me to half-heartedly glare at Sherlock through eyes with very dilated pupils, the action resulted in me unable to supress a moan causing Sherlock 'in order to cause me as little embarrassment as possible' as he will claim later, capture my lips in a heated kiss. A moment or too later this action was proved un-necessary, as Sherlock's phone began to ring, causing my cheeks to flair red.

_Last Tuesday, I had gone out to the pub with Lestrade, and needless to say, showed up at Baker Street gone midnight very drunk. According to Sherlock (for I have no memory of the night after I left the pub) I proclaimed that Sherlock's phone had in the past had a ring tone of Irene's somewhat erotic moan, when in reality the only moan Sherlock should be allowed to hear is mine. Apparently I had felt rather strongly about this and had insisted that Sherlock record me on his phone mid-orgasm and set it as his IPhone's ring and text tone. I awoke the next morning in Sherlock's arms to a rather sensual sound emitting from Sherlock's phone. Sherlock had stubbornly refused to change it ever since, reminding me at every opportunity that it had in fact been the good doctor's own idea- a rather marvellous one at that._

Needless to say, the ring and text tones in question had resulted in quite a few awkward situations and questioning looks aimed at us, something that Sherlock seemed entirely immune to.

Anyway, the situation in the cab was awkward enough anyway, made worse by the fact that as luck would have it, their taxi driver is highly homophobic (due to his ex-wife leaving him for another woman according to Sherlock).

"Gentlemen!" The taxi driver shouts, causing Sherlock I to pull away from each other. "I will not have sodomites in my taxi! No matter how famous you are! Please get out at once!"

My eyebrows arch, but as I open my mouth to protest, but Sherlock gets there first.

"Ah, Mr... Davies" He says after glancing at his Taxi ID. "Yes I suppose it must be hard for you, a devoted Catholic such as yourself with a wife who has walked out on you for another woman and a son who has recently come out as homosexual. Red lipstick on your shirt. Not your new wife, look at the immaculate way your shirt is stitched where you tore it, barely visible. She would never have let you out of the house looking such a mess. The shirt's creased, as if you didn't make it home last night. Another woman then. I'm not a religious man Mr Davies, but I'm pretty sure adultery is frowned upon. I wonder what your congregation would have to say on the matter."

The drivers face shows a mixture of shock and horror.

"Sirs, I do apologize, I meant no offence by my careless statement." He says humbly, clearly terrified Sherlock really would inform the members of the church or current wife about his immoral activities.

"Yes well. Take us to Scotland Yard and forgo the charge for this journey and nothing more will be said on the matter." Sherlock demands, face remarkably straight in comparison to the smug look he would normally wear in a situation such as this.

The man nods his head meekly in agreement, and the rest of the journey passes with no noticeable events.

The taxi stops a street or so away from Scotland Yard and as Sherlock and I begin to approach it, I notice a large group of people surrounding the entrance. As we get closer still, I begin to notice the clothing that the people adorn, as does Sherlock if the puzzled look on his face is anything to go by.

The people, predominantly women judging by the length of their hair, though it's difficult to tell from the back, are dressed in a variety of costumes. Some wear long back coats and blue scarfs, some trousers and jumpers, suits and umbrellas.

"Sherlock…are those people impersonating us?"I cry out in alarm.

"I believe so John. It seems our blog is more popular than I gave it credit for."

As we approach further, a group of girls from the crowd notice us and dash to meet us.

"Oh my god, your costumes are fantastic."

"You look just like Sherlock and John!"

"God, you've even got the hair, and the cheekbones!"

Three of the girls squeal. They are all dressed as different characters, Sherlock, myself and Mycroft I believe.

"Costumes? What do you mean costumes?" Sherlock asks.

"Well yeah, you're impersonating characters from a TV show." The tallest girl answers.

"What TV show is this?" Questions Sherlock.

"Oh come on!" Another of them cries out. "How can you not know? BBC's Sherlock, starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman."

"It's won countless awards, we're all avidly anticipating season 2." She shorter girl who is presumably trying to play 'John' states.

"Right…" I say, looking to Sherlock to see if he knows quite what to see in a situation such as this.

"So 'Sherlock'" He asks "Is it a success?"

"God yes!" Cries out the taller girl before the shorter girl elaborates with "It got some of the BBC's highest ever ratings. Martin Freeman got a BAFTA for his role as John."

"I see." He says, eyes lighting up in amusement and slight confusion. "Well thank you ladies, Jo… my friend and I must be leaving."

"I didn't catch your names?" Says the shorter girl as Sherlock and I battle our way through the crowd.

Sherlock doesn't bat an eye lid before replying with "My name's Sam, this is my friend Jack."

This seems to satisfy the girl's curiosity as they wave in our direction as they wave in our direction as we battle to the doors of Scotland Yard. Lestrade waits at the door for us; it takes him a moment longer than usual to identify us, hardly surprising given the amount of look alikes situated outside the doors.

"Greg, what in the name of god is going on?" I question

"That's why I've called you in. Apparently there's a hit TV show roughly based around your lives, I was wondering if you were aware."

"What? No! Of course not. When did you find out?" I question

"Well it was weird really, this man came into the station to report a burglary, I there is nothing going on here at the moment so I interviewed him, and anyway, he mentioned how much I look like an actor named Rupert Graves. Well, I don't know about you but I've never heard of him, so I asked what he's been in and he mentioned Sherlock. I was intrigued, so in my lunch break I went to HMV and picked up the DVD" Says Lestrade, producing a DVD cover with 'SHERLOCK' embossed across the centre, and a picture of two actors who I have to admit do show a remarkable likeness to Sherlock and me.

"You can have it, I bought more than one copy, watch it when you get home, and it's scarily accurate."

I thank Lestrade and Sherlock and I make our retreat from the Yard via one of the back entrances, neither of us much fancied the mob again.

**-BACK AT 221B BAKER STREET'S SITTING ROOM-**

Sherlock and I lounge together on the sofa (the chairs had been full of case files and un-usable for months) watching the DVD avidly.

It even manages to hold Sherlock's attention. He seems thoroughly engaged with the show (highly unusual I can tell you), and rarely speaks through its hour and a half duration.

"I can't believe how accurate this is." I comment randomly 10 minutes into 'The Blind Banker.' By now we have adopted a new position, involving me lounged across the sofa with Sherlock curled in a ball on top of me, my hand running through his curly locks.

"True." Observes Sherlock "Though there are certain inaccuracies. Some things have been changed, to make better TV I suppose. The actor playing Sherlock, he has naturally ginger hair, his cheek bones have I suppose been enhanced, no doubt he's lost a little weight for the role. But I'll admit, we are remarkably similar."

"You know." Sherlock idly comments a little later "In this 'Sherlock' I don't believe they have the relationship between Sherlock and John correct. We are and were even when we had just been introduced, much more affectionate than these actors are."

But it's when the character of Sarah is introduced that Sherlock visibly tenses up. Concerned, I reach for the remote and pause the TV.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" I ask softly.

"I… I forgot just how easily women fall for you." He says softly "Back then even, I was terrified you'd leave for some beautiful woman."

"Sherlock, do you have any idea how wonderful you are? You can deduce everything about a person in a matter of seconds, I killed a man for you within a week of meeting you, and I can assure you I have never done that for a woman. Then there's the fact you're fucking beautiful. In fact, I wasn't sure about this… I mean, we've been a couple for a little over a year… but I can't stand to let you go." I reach into my pocket and pull out a thin black box and present it to Sherlock. He opens it to reveal two black bracelets, maybe half an inch thick with 'Sherlock and John. Flatmates, friends, lovers, husbands. Inscribed in silver.

"It's not much, but I thought we could each wear one, perhaps, they could act as engagement trinkets? I didn't think a ring with a diamond would really be up your street. No, don't say anything either way; I want to do this properly."

I lower myself onto the ground, kneel with one knee on the floor and take Sherlock's hand in mine.

"Sherlock Holmes. Would you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Sherlock's face erupts into a smile and he carefully takes one of the bracelets and attaches it to my left wrist and watches as I do the same to his.

"Of course John. Of course I'll marry you."

In similar fashion to Sherlock's I smile broadly and quickly stand up, sit back on the couch. Instinctively, Sherlock lifts my body onto his and grasps my head to pull me into a heated kiss. Lips and Tounges collide, clothing is quickly and as efficiently as possible removed, a shoe is thrown at the door in order to close it should Mrs Hudson walk up the stairs as her role as 'not our housekeeper'.

Necks and collar bones are marked with love bites, each sending the message that the other belongs to someone. Lips meet again as lube is located (condoms are no longer necessary, the moment we entered a sexual relationship Sherlock demanded we were both tested to save time- one of his brighter decisions). My slick finger is positioned at Sherlock's entrance, soon to be joined with another, preparing Sherlock for the intrusion to come, curling at just the right angle to hit his prostate, causing moans of pleasure to emit from the taller man.

My fingers are soon replaced with my penis, Sherlock rocks against me, causing us both to call out the other's name. We both know this can't last, I feel myself on the brink and use my hand to tentatively stroke Sherlock's shaft, causing us both to fall over the edge at more or less the same time, crying out in the pleasure of the act and being loved by another.

In post-orgasmic bliss, neither one of us realy has the energy to move to… well do anything really. I gently pull myself out of Sherlock and tug the blanket we keep on the back of the sofa over both of us, smiling as Sherlock pulls my body towards his and wraps his arms around me, keeping me close.

I see the bracelet on Sherlock's arm and the matching one on my own and can't help but sigh in wonder. Sherlock Holmes is mine. It's inevitable that things will come between us, we'll still argue, he'll still refuse to buy the milk and generally be an annoying prick. We'll still solve crimes; I'll still blog about it, I'll continue to be the doctor while Sherlock will always be the detective... Sorry: consulting detective. But at the end of all that, we'll have each other to come home to, to lie in bed with, to make love to. Grow old together. Flatmates, friends, lovers, husbands.

**-Mycroft's house (Mycroft's POV)-**

"Yes Mr Moffat, the show has served its purpose to me, but if you and Mr Gatiss wish to continue it you have my blessing. I'll look forward to season two." I speak into the phone.

"So you're seriously telling me you're going to let them continue 'Sherlock' despite the fact that it's served its point?" Gregory asks, face looking amused.

"I don't see why not." I comment, slipping my hand into Gregory's "It really has done remarkably well; people really are interested in the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I must say, Mark Gatiss and Stephan Moffat really are remarkable writers.

"The characters are remarkable!" Laughs Gregory "They really look like us."

"I know. Terribly lucky. It seems money really does buy anything. I gave the necessary people's photos to an agency and they found these people. Obviously, hair colours have been altered and minor details have been altered, but we do seem to have look-a-likes." I say, sounding no doubt pleased with myself.

"I still can't believe you went into all that trouble for your brother. First you pay Irene Alder to make Sherlock think that it was her who put the news of their 'relationship' in the papers, then you kidnap John, then you produce a whole TV show based on his life to encourage a proposal!" Gregory laughs disbelievingly.

"God, I dread to think what lengths you'd go to if you ever wanted to ask me to marry you." He laughs, leaning in for a small kiss. I eagerly respond, wrapping one arm around my boyfriend's waist while composing two texts inside my pocket with my other hand.

**To: Doctor John Watson**

**Congratulations. Look after him –MH**

**To: Anthea**

**I believe I will be requiring a ring in the near future, could you please recommend a jewellery shop? -MH **

Hours later, I lie on the bed typing up an official document while Gregory reads a book by a man named Arthur Conan Doyle. I hear the tell-tale PING of a message received on my phone and reach for it with mild interest. No doubt a MP declaring another recession. I can't help but smile when I see what the message actually contains.

**To: Mycroft Holmes**

**Thank you. –SH**

_A/N Hello there! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update, I… actually I don't have an excuse, I got caught up in re-watching every version of Sherlock Holmes I could find. Well, this is officially the end of this fanfiction. I really hope you enjoyed it, and a massive thank you to everyone who's reviewed etc this story. Still, reviews on this chapter would be lovely. I could be persuaded to write a sequel, if anyone's interested in seeing one or has any ideas, please, send me a PM or write it in a review. So, bye for now. Laterz!_


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